Never Underestimate Your Heart
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: Sherlock comes to a realisation.
1. A High-Functioning Sociopath

He found her at her flat, sitting on the sofa surrounded by used tissues, her cat Toby on her lap. She was stroking him automatically while tears continued to pour down her cheeks.

She suddenly became aware of his presence. Her eyes went wide, first with surprise, at being caught at a vulnerable moment. Then with horror as she became uncomfortably aware that while he stood there dressed impeccably as usual, she wore a ratty old, but well-loved t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Before he could offer any words of reassurance, she had leapt to her feet. The box of tissues went flying in one direction, Toby the other.

He pursued her as she dashed past him, intent on getting to the relative safety of her bedroom.

As she attempted to close the door in his face, he forced his way in and immediately pulled her into his arms as she was hit by another wave of tears.

Easily lifting her smaller frame he carried her to the bed, where he gently deposited her before joining her and taking her in his arms once again.

When the storm of tears ended she mumbled into his shirt. "Its not because Tom got married."

Resting his cheek against the top of her head he asked. "Then what is it?"

Molly took a number of deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself, "I guess I'm beginning to wonder if I will ever…"

Gently rubbing his hand up and down her back in an attempt to give comfort Sherlock responded confidently. "You will find someone worthy of you Molly Hooper. Someone who will love you for the remarkable person you are."

She let out a sad little sigh. "Except that the one I love will never feel for me the way I feel for him."

Sherlock stiffened briefly.

"I'm sorry," Molly whispered. "Don't listen to me. I'm just emotional right now." She then yawned and closed her eyes. Her breathing soon indicated she was fast asleep.

Sherlock carefully manoeuvred her so that she was laying flat on her back. He then got up from the bed and pulled the blankets over her.

MOLLY'S FLAT

He stood looking down at her for a moment or two, and then having made his decision he leant down and kissed her gently on her forehead, her cheek and finally her lips.

Molly smiled in her sleep, and then turned on her side so that she was now facing him.

Sherlock bent down and breathed into her ear, "Sweet dreams Molly Hooper." He then gently brushed his fingers through her hair before leaving her bedroom.

As he exited her flat Sherlock began to wonder if Mycroft was wrong about sentiment. Maybe with the right person it would be a strength rather than a weakness.

It was certainly something he intended to investigate thoroughly. And by the end he hoped Molly would be left in no doubt how he felt about her.


	2. My Pathologist

BARTS HOSPITAL

Sherlock Holmes burst through the doors of the morgue at St. Bart's Hospital. He was a man on a mission, and he was eager to begin his latest experiment. But this one wasn't for a case, it was of a far more personal nature.

He made his way over to his favourite microscope. Taking a number of samples from his pocket, he then removed his belstaff, casually throwing it over the back of the chair before sitting down. Placing one of the samples on a slide that he then put on the microscope.

Then he waited.

Soon after Molly Hooper entered the morgue. She paused when she spotted the Consulting Detective. She looked around the morgue and then checked her records.

"Sherlock, do you need something?"

Sherlock looked up. "Not today Molly. I just wanted to check some samples so I can finish up a couple of cases for Lestrade."

Molly frowned. "Couldn't you do that at Baker Street?"

Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh. "Mrs Hudson is spring cleaning," he grumbled. "And she insists on singing."

Molly grinned.

"So I thought I'd come here so I could work in peace and quiet," he paused briefly. "If that's all right with you?"

Molly raised an eyebrow. Sherlock preferred to demand rather than ask. Usually his being nice meant he wanted something from her. But since his return from exile he'd been getting better at asking.

"No, no that's fine," she said. "You carry on. I'm just finishing a few things up before the end of my shift."

Sherlock nodded, then went back to looking at his samples. Except that he wasn't looking at them at all. Out of the corner of his eye he observed Molly. When she sat down next to him and began filling out paperwork, he took the opportunity to reach out for her pen, making sure to purposefully brush her hand with his.

Molly jumped with surprise at the contact, dropping her pen that Sherlock immediately picked up. "Just need to note down my findings," he said casually.

Over the next hour Sherlock managed to find an infinite number of ways to touch Molly so as to test his theory for his experiment. Brushing past her when he got up, accidently touching her when she brought him his coffee, being in her way whenever she tried to move round him...

By now Molly was becoming a little suspicious, especially when Sherlock came to stand right behind her, leaning over her to check what she was writing. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, and she could have sworn she had felt the brush of his lips when he had made a comment on her handwriting.

Her thoughts went back to the night before when Sherlock had found her crying over her ex-fiancé' Tom. She remembered him holding her until she fell asleep. She also remembered being woken when he'd kissed her on the forehead. At first she thought she must have dreamt it. But then he'd proceeded to kiss her on the cheek, and then… her lips. How she had managed to maintain the illusion that she was asleep was beyond her.

When she'd been woken by her alarm, she'd dismissed the whole incident as nothing more than wishful thinking.

Sherlock wasn't the type to initiate physical contact. Yet in the last hour he'd purposefully touched her 22 times. What was he up to? She glanced over at him. He was now back at the microscope, his eyes apparently fixed on another sample.

Except that his gaze appeared too fixed. Was it possible that he'd touched her deliberately? It was then that it struck her, he was performing an experiment, on her. She smiled to herself. Two could play at that game.

She got up, walked over to the water cooler to get a drink. As she walked back she stopped next to Sherlock. Casually she reached out and ran her fingers lightly over the back of his neck.

Sherlock let out a surprised gasp. He turned to look at her enquiringly.

Where-upon Molly deliberately poured the contents of the paper cup over his purple shirt.

"Ooops," she said, her expression one of complete innocence.

Without a second thought Sherlock removed his suit jacket and his shirt.

Molly couldn't keep her eyes off his lean, well-toned body. But when she became aware that she was openly ogling him, she turned away in embarrassment.

Sherlock couldn't conceal his smirk of delight at her reaction. And then one eyebrow rose with surprise when he heard her mutter under her breath.

"Pity I wasn't able to get the water all over his trousers as well…"

And the more he thought about the implication of her words, the more he couldn't help agreeing, and mourning a missed opportunity. His body most definitely agreed as his tight trousers become even tighter.

"Damn!"

Molly turned to face him.

"What?"

Realising he'd spoken aloud, Sherlock immediately tried to brush it off.

"Nothing." His voice came out a little strained. He then tried to move his lower body to more comfortable position. But all that did was make the situation worse.

Molly wasn't fooled for a moment. She noted Sherlock's flushed cheeks, his increased uneven breathing and his refusal to meet her eyes.

She stepped right up to him again. This time she didn't stop until she is standing between his legs.

"Are you all right Sherlock?"

"Fine," he replied quickly, attempting to turn in his seat before discovering too late that her current position had him effectively trapped.

Molly pressed her cool hands against his forehead.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Sherlock replied, but there is an element of panic in his response.

Molly ran her fingers over his well-defined cheekbones, before moving her hands over his shoulders, rubbing her fingers gently over his sensitive nipples before moving down to his abdomen.

Sherlock couldn't contain the shudder that ran through his feverish and desperate body, or the moan that slipped past his lips.

While his brain was still capable of thought he realised that Molly has very effectively turned the tables on him.

But when he felt Molly slide her hands over the front of his now impossibly tight trousers, giving a gentle squeeze as she pressed her lips against his neck, her kisses following the path her hands had taken. Sherlock immediately decides that he's more than happy that she has done so, and he doesn't want her to stop.

Molly then moved, positioning herself so that she sat astride Sherlock. They moaned in unison as their bodies slide intimately against each other.

She rested her forehead against his, and looked him in the eye, noting his dilated pupils. Her hand resting against his chest picked up his increased heart rate.

"So," she said, her voice becoming sultry. "I think we need to take this experiment to the next stage."

Sherlock nodded.

"But before we can, we have to make a decision."

Sherlock frowned, becoming a little worried. "And that is?"

Molly grinned. "My place or yours?"


	3. Sentiment

TAXI

Anticipation was thick in the air in the back seat of the taxi as it made its way from St Bart's to Molly's flat.

Sherlock and Molly purposefully kept themselves at a discreet distance in the limited confines as the taxi moved sluggishly through the London streets.

The slightest brush of skin upon skin, no matter how innocent, could very well be their undoing. And neither was of a mind to give the cabbie an exclusive story that he could sell to the highest bidder.

It was absolute torture for both of them. They dared not even look at each other.

Sherlock's fingers tapped impatiently on the armrest, and he swore under his breath when the taxi was forced to stop for yet another set of traffic lights. He knew the quickest route from St Bart's to Molly's flat, and this cabbie was most definitely not taking it.

What should have been a relatively short trip felt like it was taking forever.

When the taxi finally pulled up at their destination, both passengers let out an audible sigh of relief.

MOLLY'S FLAT

As soon as the door to the flat was shut and locked they were now free to continue where they had left off.

But when Sherlock started to tear off his shirt, Molly stopped him.

"Don't," she pleaded. "It's my favourite."

Sherlock gave her a wolfish grin, before deliberately slowly undoing the buttons on the cuffs.

But before he could start on the others Molly was pulling the shirt up and over his head. She then reached for the fly of his trousers.

Sherlock grabbed her hand and grinned at her enquiring look. "Impatient are we?" he asked playfully.

Molly reached up with her other hand to pull his face closer to hers. Instead of kissing him on the lips as he'd expected, she sank her teeth into the flesh along his jaw.

Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he moaned in bliss, letting go of her hand so that he could wrap his fingers around her neck.

With both hands now free Molly made quick work of unzipping his trousers.

But before she could remove them, Sherlock swung her over his shoulder and headed towards her bedroom.

A disgruntled Toby exited the bed just as they landed in a tangle of arms and legs upon it.

One minute they lay giggling like teenagers. The next they were making quick work of removing the rest of their clothes.

As Sherlock moved to position himself between her legs, Molly couldn't resist teasing him. "So I guess I finally get to find out if you can perform 'seven times a night' as the tabloids claimed."

Sherlock pouted. "I prefer quality over quantity."

"I like the sound of that."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow enquiringly. "Only like."

Molly's response was to reach up and pull him down towards her so she could kiss him softly on the lips.

Sweet gentle kisses soon became heated and touches desperate.

Molly buried her fingers through his curls, as she'd always wanted to do as she kissed him with all the pent up passion that had been waiting almost five years to be expressed. She then trailed her fingers over his shoulders and across his chest, before grazing her fingernails over his erect nipples that elicited a hungry moan from his lips.

For his part Sherlock was busy planting wet, open-mouthed kisses over every inch of her skin he could reach. He paid special attention to her breasts. Taking a nipple in his mouth, he glanced up making eye contact with her as he lathed it generously with his tongue before moving to the other to give it the same attention.

Molly's hands moved down to take a firm hold of his erect penis. Shivers ran up and down his spine as she ran her nails up and down his shaft.

Sherlock's spine arched causing his hips to grind frantically against her. Unable to hold back any longer Sherlock reared up and with a single thrust, entered her. His eyes fluttered closed, his face a picture of bliss.

It was only when Molly reached down to squeeze his taught buttocks that he began to move, slipping deeper inside her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

The pace he set was punishing, and they were soon both drenched in sweat.

Molly clung to Sherlock, her fingers digging wantonly into his flesh, her body shuddering uncontrollably.

Sensing she was close Sherlock pulled right out of her before slamming back in. Molly let out a wail as she threw her head back, her body arching as she slipped over the edge, screaming his name.

Sherlock gave a triumphant shout as he quickly followed her into oblivion.

Sherlock felt completely boneless. He still lay plastered against Molly, his head resting against her neck as they both attempted to regain their breath.

Reluctantly he eased out of her, but he immediately pulled her close as they settled themselves more comfortably in the bed, pulling the sheets over their rapidly cooling bodies.

Sherlock could sense the troubling thoughts swirling around Molly's head even as she snuggled into him.

So it was no surprise when she finally asked. "Sherlock?"

"Mmmhmm," he replied, waiting.

"Are you ok with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Molly raised her head to look him in the eye. "Because you rarely let anyone close to you," she said. "You refrain from physical contact unless it is absolutely necessary. You always claim that sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, and you've been adamant that love is a dangerous disadvantage."

She took a deep breath.

"I just don't want you to regret… this."

Unable to maintain eye contact any longer she made a move to leave.

But she was stopped when Sherlock pulled her back to him, before he laid her back on the bed. Leaning over her, he gently ran his hands through her hair, before cupping her face, looking intently into her expressive eyes.

"Its true that I have always viewed those types of emotions negatively in the past. In most cases I still do."

But then his eyes softened as they looked deeply into hers. "But believe me when I tell you this, you… Molly Hooper… will always be… the exception to that rule," he stated punctuating his words between sweet kisses.

Molly reached up to wrap her arms around him, "Good to know," she murmured happily, an enormous grin plastered all over her face.

Sherlock grinned back before his expression became more intense as he began the serious task of cataloguing Molly Hooper and her responses to certain stimuli provided by his lips, tongue, hands and body.

A task that was to take many, many hours to complete to their mutual satisfaction


End file.
